The Pants
by Molly Lyn
Summary: "How'd you get a pair of men's SRU track pants?" "They're not yours?" Contains some Jam. Why? Because I wrote it, that's why.


**A/N: Originally this was supposed to be a chapter (or maybe a between chapters oneshot) for a new story. Thing is, I've run into issues with said story, so I've just decided to say screw it and post this on it's own. Contains minimal jam. sorry.**

** Language warning in this: spoiler alert, I say Bitches. Sorry if that offends you. Just mentally replace it with the word 'Puppies', à la Joey from friends, and you'll be fine. Same goes for the word ass. and floozy. none of which are repeated much.**

* * *

"How much more is there?"

"Just the trunk by the window and whatever's left in the top of the closet."

One look at the shoes tells him he wants nothing to do with the closet. Jules has the step ladder out, she can handle that. He quickly puts together a box and opens the trunk to start packing up it's contents. "Oh good, more sweaters. Were you a prude in your former life?"

She stops, shoots him a glance over her shoulder from her perch on the step ladder. "Excuse me if I get cold sometimes. Once upon a time I didn't have a personal heater in my bed." She smiles, winks, and turns back to the task of untangling a few misplaced shoe laces.

He shrugs, smiles to himself. Makes a mental note to get a picture of it should Jules ever wear the knitted one with the penguin on the front. "Hey Jules?"

"Hmmm?" She can't be bothered to turn around, too focused on the shoes she's just rediscovered. Yes, she has a weakness for shoes. She could still kick _your_ ass.

"Whose pants are these?"

Still hasn't bothered to turn around. "Um, mine?" Obviously. This is _her _room they're packing up.

"How'd you get a pair of men's SRU track pants?"

This time she turns around, if for no other reason then because he's not making any sense. "They aren't yours?"

"Nope. Jules, I didn't even know this trunk had stuff in it."

"Oh." Pauses. Thinks for a moment. "I suppose they could be Spike's."

His brow furrows and he's flat out boggled by the suggestion. _Why does she have Spike's pants? Why did Spike leave his pants here? What were-_ "Why do you have his pants?"

She shrugs, turns to look for the tape to close the box of shoes. "He probably left them here one night." She goes about labelling the box, finds an empty one to put the rest of the closet's contents in. He's fallen quiet, unusually so, so she turns around to see what's caught his tongue. "Sam?"

"Yeah." Nods a few times, squints his eyes in concentration. "I'm going to need a little more information there."

"Where?"

"The pants. Spike's pants."

She stops what she's doing, confused by the line of questioning. She has to think about it for a minute before realization dawns on her. "Oh. OH! Sam, oh my god, you think-? Wow. Ok, no. It's not like that." She's laughing now at the absurdity of the implication, but calms herself enough to fill him in on the details. "It's sort of a long story…"

* * *

_2006_

There's a knocking at the door and she sighs - sadly, she's pretty sure that's not a gentleman caller on her porch. The knocking persists, and she rolls her eyes at the impatience, quickly slipping her take out menus back into their drawer. "Ok, ok, I'm coming."

She tosses a few misplaced items out of the line of sight on her way to the door - can never be too careful, who knows who's at the door? A quick glance from the door tells her the hall is all clear so she begins to unlock the deadbolt while checking through the window next to the door. "Oh no…" she mumbles to herself, swinging the door open. "Hey Spike, how's it going?"

He gives a pitiful smile that she returns, stepping aside to grant him entrance.

"That good, eh?"

He gives a small nod, finds his way to the couch and slumps down into it. "I just don't get it."

Jules sighs, closes the door behind him. Good thing she didn't have plans tonight. "What happened?"

He scrunches his face in thought and gives a small nod. "Do you have any food?"

She sighs, should have seen that coming, and wanders out to the kitchen. "Rocky road ok?" There's an affirmative groan from the next room and she grabs a couple spoons. Along with a bottle of red and two glasses, for good measure. His face lights up at the sight of the _feast_ she seems to have chosen for them and slides over on the couch so she can sit beside him. She's barely settled in her seat before he's got the tub open and a spoonful of ice-cream in his mouth.

"I just don't get it," he mumbles, his mouth busy dealing with the ice-cream.

"I'm sorry, I didn't catch that. There was a fat kid talking." She can tell just how upset he is by his lack of a response to her joke. "Alright then. Swallow, then spill."

He frowns, manages to get the too large of a mouthful down and takes a deep breath. "She actually said _it's not you it's me._"

Jules cringes, lets out an audible gasp. He nods, and she can tell there's more to the story so she grabs the bottle off the coffee table and pours them each a glass. "The least she could do is use some original material…"

He nods half heartedly at her offhanded comment. "Apparently her schedule is just too full right now."

She nods along, thinks maybe she can be the positive one in the conversation. "Maybe she's right. Maybe she doesn't have time for a relationship right now."

He stops his spoon mid scoop, wine glass lingering midway between his mouth and the coffee table, eyebrow midway between it's home and his hairline. "She's a substitute teacher. At the very least she's off evenings, weekends, and two full months during the summer. Don't play dumb Jules, you know damn well she meant _my_ schedule is too difficult for _her_ to work around."

She sighs, gives in. She knows he saw it coming, she sure as hell did, but it's got to be hard on him. Constantly getting involved with girls who just can't deal with the shift work. She has the same problem. It's why her last two boyfriends - if you can call them that - were an ER doctor and a firefighter. Thought their own odd hour shifts would create some level of understanding when it came to hers - evidently all it did was add to the problem. "You've got to stop dating girls like that."

"Girls like what? Beautiful? Intelligent? Funny?"

She rolls her eyes - the girl in question may have been smart enough to teach grade school, but _intelligent_ was certainly not a word Jules would use to describe her. "Girls who are bitches."

Spike takes a pensive moment, nods a little. "Girls are bitches."

With a smirk she gives him a swat on the arm. "Not all girls. You just seem to attract all the bitches."

He shrugs, and tops up his glass. "You want more?"

She checks out her own nearly empty glass. "We should get food if we're going to keep drinking like this."

Without hesitation he hands her his glass and pulls out his phone. Speed dial 2. She won't comment. "Olives and bacon?"

Her response is a raised eyebrow glare that might as well have been accompanied by the word _doye._

The pizza arrives in record time and before she knows it they're two bottles in and sitting on the floor next to the empty pizza box.

"I like your house. Seriously, the more time I spend here the more I like it."

She nods. "I'm thinking I might renovate. Could be fun."

He shrugs, scowls a little. "Yeah… I won't be helping with that."

"Didn't think so. Hey, what was that one girl's name? The one with the hair that did that thing…" She's got one hand at the back of her head making some kind of swooshing motion. "You know, the one with the…" More gestures.

"Oh. You mean Allie?"

"Allie! Yes. She was a floozy."

"Did you just say floozy?"

"I did." The desire to repeat the word simply because it sounds cool tells her it's time to stop drinking. That, and the pounding in her head. "Party's over."

He nods along, quickly stopping and grasping his head as the action sends his innards swirling. "Um, I should get a cab."

She rolls her eyes, using him for support as she clambers to her feet. "You know you're welcome to stay."

He smiles, asks if she's sure, takes her hand when she offers to help him up. "Ok, but just wait here a minute."

She stands in a confused daze as she watches him toddle his way down the hall and out the front door, returning a moment later with a gym bag in hand.

"Spike, is that…?"

He bows his head in feigned shame and they both stifle back a laugh. "I brought sweats."

She just laughs to herself as she leads the familiar route upstairs. "You know, if you're going to keep getting screwed over you might as well just keep those sweats here."

He snorts a little, pauses in the hallway. "And how would you explain that to the men you bring home?"

She turns to face him, rolling her eyes. "First of all, I don't just 'bring men home'. And the guys out there are about as quality as the girls so I don't think I have to worry about that. Besides, I'll just tell them they belong to my sad friend Michelangelo who comes over for girly sleepovers sometimes."

* * *

_Present Day_

Sam's brow shifts slightly, his mouth a mask hiding his true thoughts on the subject.

"So yeah, I guess he decided to keep them here for nights when he stayed over."

"So you and Spike had slumber parties… did you two ever…you know...?"

"Don't be a moron."

"Didn't think so. So just the feminine sleepovers then…interesting." He smiles, deviously, relaxes on the bed. He flips the pants over and over in his hands. "I should return these to Spike. I'm thinking at dinner tomorrow night."

All she can do is groan her disapproval.


End file.
